#theninthduchessofhell

"So are you, buddy." Sam pats Cas, smiling toothy and pinkcheeked, as Cas pulls him in for a fierce hug. "So are you."

When they separate, Dean realizes he's almost done with his however-many-th bottle, and flings it at Sam who catches it in a rare stroke of luck. He proceeds to collect as many emptied bottles as he can in his ginormous arms, to drop off at the kitchen because he's a regular boy Scout like that — and then waves goodnight at the two of them before hobbling off to his room.

Cas reseats himself next to Dean, bright-eyed and satisfied.

"Bird day." He repeats, as if for validation, when Dean finds himself caught staring, though it's really not his fault — comfortable, content Cas has always been a weak spot, and he's too beautiful for him to help it.

"That's funny, I guess." Dean manages.

Cas's face scrunches, suddenly doleful. "Bee day would've been funnier."

"Hey, hey," Dean nudges him, as if that could get the sad glint out of his eyes. "Some people — not me, but you know, others — call it a happy b-day sometimes."

"They do?"

Dean nods.

"Oh." Cas sighs thankfully, the frown smoothening itself out. "I'm so glad to hear that."

And with that, he leans over to take a swig of Dean's beer, eyes crinkling at the hunter — back to normal, or as normal as happy-drunk Castiel was ever going to get — leaving Dean stunned in a sudden, overwhelming tornado of emotions.

It's like a switch had flipped.

A switch, stuck for longer than a decade in the middle, apparently the one holding Dean back from giving in all this time, and how badly he's wanted to give in, holy shit —

And now Cas has practically gummy-smiled it to where it should always have been; literally goddamn smiled, hazy-eyed and glorious, his way past the last, assumed-impenetrable wall of Dean's defenses, and his heart, because god-friggin'-dammit, he loves Cas, of course he loves Cas, and —

How had he ever imagined he could hold it in forever?

Blissfully unaware of Dean's revelation, Cas just frowns as he returns the hunter his bottle. "Dean, do you think anyone truly enjoys the taste of —"

Now or never, Winchester.

"— beer, or only tolerates it for the effects it has on their central nervous system, because —"

Dean draws a quick breath, tunes the voices in his head out, and leans in abruptly to press his lips to Cas's cheek.

Cas, obviously, stops speaking entirely.

Dean gulps.

Then slowly, Cas turns, lips parted, and starry eyes directed straight at Dean, and this time Dean doesn't even have to convince himself to go for it, and finds himself leaning closer to plant a kiss on Cas's temple.

Cas's smile grows wider, and Dean thinks he lets out a lightheaded chuckle.

"You humans," Cas ends up saying, shaking his head, tears glistening in his eyes. "And your needless tendencies to overcomplicate everything."

Dean blinks, pulled out of his reverie by Cas's unusual remark, but he doesn't get a chance to ponder — because Cas is cupping his face determinedly, leaning in, and finally, finally meeting his lips in a kiss.

It lasts all of a minute, really, but feels like twelve years worth of promises, and faith, and belonging — and an eternity of love.

"Happy Birthday, Cas."

Dean's voice trembles as he grabs the lapels of his age-old trenchcoat to hold him right there.

Cas doesn't seem like he intends to move either, for a very, very long time — though there's a smug lining to his voice when he speaks, and it's so exasperatingly the Cas Dean fell for, it's unreal.

"Such a weird phrase." Cas whispers back. "Almost sounds like 'I love you', wouldn't you say?"

"You're a little shit when you're drunk." Dean rolls his eyes, and kisses Cas again just because he can, now.

Cas kisses him back eagerly, and Dean wonders if he's accidentally acquired the remnants of Cas's grace when they pull apart, because he could swear this feels like wings.